


You come on like a drug (and I just can't get enough)

by istillfearkanna



Series: Agape, Eros, and Philautia (or, Crushes are Garbage) [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-sided Yuriyuu, Post-Canon, Unrequited Love, drunk Yuri, hints of another one-sided past ship as well because i want everyone to suffer basically, seriously what is it with these banquets and someone getting wasted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9632156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istillfearkanna/pseuds/istillfearkanna
Summary: The banquet brings back memories of Sochi as Otabek tries to help Yurio deal with his desperately unwanted feelings.





	

"Hey you!" A drunken voice slurred from across the room. "Russian punk! Name-stealer!" It was Katsuki, clearly out of his head, clutching a champagne bottle he'd obviously swiped from a distracted waiter. The few remaining sponsors were giving him a wide berth, the press mercifully gone. "You owe me an apology you little...you adorable little ball of hate."

Yuri felt his face burn. In truth, he felt guilty, especially after he saw Viktor unwittingly destroy Katsuki's soul in the GPF venue's lobby the day before. He wasn't about to own up to it, though. He had a reputation to maintain. "I won't apologize for telling the truth, and don't call me a fucking fairy."

"Come on, all the blogs call you that!" It was true enough, but Yuri didn't have to like it. The older man was right up on his face now, breath reeking of alcohol. "You remind me of a prima ballerina. Tiny and pretty and really kinda sorta stuck up?"

"Maybe because I did ballet," Yuri groused. His phone was still in his hand and he raised it between them, finding himself taking a picture or two of Yuuri's little tirade even as his blood started to boil. "And I'm not a fucking girl."

"I'm real sorry," Katsuki mumbled, and all of the fight went out of him. "I didn't mean it that way. I did ballet too, and my instructor was a prima ballerina and I love her like family and...hey, we should have a dance off!"

Well, that wasn't how he'd expected to confrontation to end. "A dance off?" Yuri sputtered, incredulous. 

A challenge gleamed in Yuuri's eyes and it suddenly seemed rather...enticing. "Yeah! If I win, you have to apologize."

"So if - when - I win, you'll retire?" Yuri asked, rolling his eyes.

"Sure! 'Cause I won't lose," Yuuri whispered, dangerously close to Yuri's face. He was so much more confident now.

Mila and Viktor, who had been watching the strange confronation unfold from safely behind Yuri, finally decided to engage in the conversation. "Oh, little Yura, a dance battle? That sounds amazing!" Mila squealed.

"This must happen," Viktor said, a smile so impossibly broad spreading across his face. It was the first time Yuri had seen him like that at one of these formal events. "We volunteer to be the judges!"

"I did not agree to this!" Yuri protested, but the other Yuuri had already cleared out a secrion of the ballroom for their battle. He said something to that creepy Swiss skater, who took out his phone with a wicked grin as he headed for the sound system, and then he pointed at Yuri dramatically before spinning into some well-practiced breakdancing moves.

The way he moved was still so hypnotic, even off the ice. He was music in motion, no matter what he was doing. Yuri's heart ached even as his pride forced his feet to move, unwilling to let a challenge go unanswered no matter how ridiculous. He was already loosening his tie, handing his phone to Viktor, and storming out to the dance floor before he even knew what he was doing.

Throwing himself into competitions was nothing new to Yuri, but being so captivated by an opponent was. He could hardly keep his eyes off Yuuri, which was obviously affecting his performance. Even after he tore his eyes away, he was distracted by the realization he was having fun at one of these stupid stuffy banquets for the first time in his career. Dancing, even skating had always been more of a duty than a pastime since he was five years old, an act filled with passion and determination but utterly lacking in love. But this, tonight, he could feel something in his movements, in Yuuri's, that was utterly alien to him.

It was intoxicating.

"Yuuri Katsuki is the winner!" Viktor crowed as the music came to a stop. He was almost dancing on the spot in joy.

"I'm next!" The Swiss skater interjected. "Let me go get something from my room first."

"Fine...but I'm next after Chris," Viktor pouted.

"Sorry little punk," the other Yuuri slurred, hanging off Yuri's arm. The proximity of his face, so lovable even in his current state, was extremely uncomfortable and yet entirely welcome in a way Yuri didn't understand. He wanted to run, but also to never leave. "Better apologize now!"

"Fucking make me," Yuri stammered, trying desperately to keep his guard up. Yuuri started to pull away, but he found himself clinging more tightly to the older man, keeping him close by. His arms were strong, sturdy. Yuri wanted to lean into them and...wait, what?

These thoughts, these foreign, alien thoughts began to crowd his mind. Thoughts of being held by Yuuri, of sleeping curled up at his side, of dancing with him in earnest...they were all-consuming. Yuri hated it, hated how they invaded his head and his heart, but getting swept up in his imagination, in his emotions felt so good. He carefully pulled Yuuri ever closer, face burning all the while until Katsuki eventually slipped free, stumbling towards Viktor, apology apparently forgotten.

Yuri slumped into a chair. He didn't know how to put words to the way he felt but somehow, he knew he was utterly screwed.

* * *

It is utterly impossible for a gold medalist to avoid the GPF banquet. Which is why Yuri Plisetsky found himself being hauled into the ballroom of their Barcelona hotel by Yakov, no matter how badly he wanted to sit in his room and sulk after the still-lingering emotional and physical exhaustion from his free skate.

As if the stupid banquet wasn't bad enough, Yuuri would be there, too, and Yuri was not looking forward to dealing with the aftermath of his little emotional breakdown at the free skate.

As if the raw feelings weren't bad enough, he'd had to sit through the goddamned exhibition performance, too. Yuri went from irritated at hearing that stupid song of Viktor's, to entranced by how beautifully Yuuri skated it (it was suited him far more than it did Viktor), to confused and then infuriated after Viktor himself skated out to join him. He couldn't even hear the music at that point with the blood pounding in his ears

Stupid assholes. Flaunting their relationship like that, it was...shameless. It had to be Viktor's idea. Yuuri would never stoop to that of his own accord. He was more subtle, more pricate with his love, just like...well, clearly Viktor had bullied him into it somehow.

The stupid pair skate had been such a spectacle that no one even cared to notice Yuri's own gala performance. More salt in an already gaping wound. Hopefully that also meant the press and sponsors would swarm them as soon as they showed up, making it easier to avoid them.

When they arrived Yuri gave the ballroom a thorough scan. Mercifully, the most obnoxious couple in the world had yet to arrive. They were probably off fucking in the bathroom or something, the degenerates. Yuri shook the deeply unwanted image away. Whatever the reason, avoiding Yuuri just got at least a little bit easier.

Through an impressive feat of en-route haggling and bitching, Yuri had managed to negotiate with Yakov and reduce his face time with the sponsors to ten minutes. The instant they were up, he went to go stand by the champagne, finding a tray mercifully unattended. Glancing around, he quickly downed a glass.

"I know Europe is pretty lax with drinking laws, but I'm pretty sure you're underage even in Spain," said a quiet but strong voice from behind Yuri, and his heart was in his throat as he sputtered and turned to face it. Otabek was standing there, calmly sipping at a glass, giving him a level stare. 

Yuri's heart rate returned to normal. Good thing it hadn't been Yakov or Lilia or one of his rinkmates. "Russians are weaned on vodka," Yuri lied. His grandpa had offered him a sip from time to time, and he had accepted because it was the "manly" thing to do, but that didn't mean he actually liked it. "Champagne's got nothing on that. Not gonna tell on me, are you?"

Otabek offered a quiet smile. "Just be careful. Tiny kittens can't handle much, strong drinks or no."

"Fuck off," Yuri growled, swatting at his smirking friend. Otabek was the only reason the GPF had been survivable, honestly. A stupid kitten crack or two was fine, especially since Otabek was the only one to respect his hidden strength. "And thanks, I guess."

Two drinks later, he had almost forgotten about the morning's fresh tragedy...so of course that was exactly when the lovebirds chose to make their entrance. As expected, their arrival heralded a mass exodus of press and sponsors. Yuri shot Otabek a look of irritation mingled with hopefully-unnoticed dread, and Otabek offered the smallest of sympathetic smiles. "Do you want to sneak out?"

"Gold medalists don't miss the banquet," Yuri mumbled in a poor imitation Yakov's bitching. 

Otabek patted him on the shoulder. "I'll try and run interference when they escape the mob, if I have to."

Five drinks - nah, maybe six - seemed to give Yuri an epiphany. "Actually, Otabek, I have a stupid question to ask."

"I'm sure it's not stupid, but ask away," Otabek said, suddenly curious.

"It's definitely stupid," Yuri muttered. "Have you ever been in love with someone that couldn't ever see you the same way?"

Otabek Altin, bastion of stoicism, suddenly looked like he'd been gutshot. "I...I think everyone has, Yuri."

"Yeah, yeah, but like, really in love, and they're always real sweet no matter how shitty you are but you know they love someone else and even if they didn't you're just a kid to them?"

"That sounds...specific," Otabek said slowly.

"Come on," Yuri slurred, putting away another glass. Otabek shifted himself between Yuri and the unattended tray somewhat defensively. "Like, I'm really in love with him, okay? And it hurts. So goddamn much."

"It happens to all teenagers, Yuri. You'll-"

"Fuck that!" Yuri snapped. "I don't want to hear shit about me being a kid! I've had to be an adult longer than you I bet. You wanna know why I had those 'soldier eyes' you were so nuts about? The shit I had to deal with coming to St. Petersburg by myself?"

"I'm sorry, Yura," Otabek said, suddenly stoic again but with a hint of remorse in his strong features. "What do want me to say?"

"What the fuck do I do?" Yuri choked out, fighting back tears already. Was he a sad drunk? He always thought he would be an angry drunk. 

The only noticeable change in Otabek's demeanor was a slight crease in his forehead. "Are you so sure he wouldn't feel the same?"

Yuri shook his head a bit too hard, an act he immediately regretted as the room began to spin. "I'm just a kid to him. I mean, he takes me seriously as a rival, but he could never, ever see me that way."

"I don't know, Yura. You're attractive, strong, talented...you have plenty of desirable qualities, I mean," Otabek said, as if nothing else mattered beyond these basic facts, like love was some kind of logic puzzle for which Yuri held all the answers.

Yuri, however, was not fond of this line of questioning. "He doesn't. Even if he was available, he couldn't."

"Just talk to him. Have you told him?" Otabek said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "You said he's always good to you. It sounds like he would understand."

"Oh yeah. Sure. 'Hey Katsudon, I know you just showed your love to the whole world, but I love you too, please leave the man of your dreams for me.'"

"Katsudon?" Otabek asked, puzzled.

Fuck. "Don't worry about it."

"Isn't that what you call Yuuri Katsuki?" Yuri's head hanging in shame was answer enough. "You don't have to ask him to leave anyone for you, just tell him how you feel. He can help you move on and deal with it instead of having to suffer in silence."

"Talking to you is kind of already helping," Yuri confessed. "Or maybe it's the champagne. I don't know."

"Have you ever told anyone?"

"I kind of told grandpa. Mila definitely knows, or at least suspects, but I haven't said anything to her obviously."

Across the room, the crowd had dispersed at last and Viktor was speaking to Yakov as Yuuri headed for Chulanont and Giacometti across the room. "Here's your chance, Yura. I'll be right here, okay?"

Yuri nodded and took a deep breath, crossing the room with a purposeful if ungainly stride. Yuuri was almost within reach when he stumbled into a chair and just barely managed to haul himself up. Thankfully no one seemed to have noticed except Otabek, who offered an awkward yet supportive thumbs up. Yuri reciprocated as he found his legs. "Katsudon," he slurred, and Yuuri turned away from his friends with a smile that faded into concern.

"Yuri, have you been drinking?" He asked. Yuri shuddered at hearing his real name from the other Yuuri's soft, full lips. Beautiful lips.

"Yeah whatever, like you can talk," Yuri mumbled, steadying himself.

"I'm not touching the stuff this year," Yuuri said, embarrassed. "Please, sit down Yuri. You should rest for a moment, at least, or you're going to throw up all over your sponsors." 

"Fuck 'em," Yuri growled. "They're too busy sucking Viktor's dick. Listen, Katsudon, I gotta say something."

"O-okay," Yuuri said, confused. He stepped closer, preparing to catch Yuri if he fell. So considerate. Stupid katsudon. Why did he have to be so beautiful? Even when he was worried like this, though Yuri felt horrible for making him feel that way.

"Listen, Katsudon," Yuri slurred. "Katsudon, I...Yuuri."

Yuuri was taken aback at hearing his name. "Are you okay?"

"Yuuri..." he couldn't do it. He couldn't say it. Yuuri looked so innocent and perfect. His lips were still...his lips looked good. Really good. Like, intoxicating. Yuri found himself leaning forward, still struggling to speak. They were inches away from each other, Yuuri still waiting patiently for him to speak. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Yuri was on his toes, closing the gap. He noticed Yuuri's beautiful, expressive brown eyes widen in the moment before impact, before their lips made blessed contact at last, before Yuri was tasting everything he ever wanted. Yuuri was vaguely strawberry flavored. His lips were soft and divine. The kiss lasted seconds, Yuuri was utterly unresponsive, but it was bliss, it was everything he ever wanted, it was

It was a lie. It was a lie and he knew it even before Yuuri stumbled backwards and sent him tumbling to the floor, tears already pouring down his face. 

"Yuri!" He felt himself being hauled up, even though he didn't want to. He wanted to stay on the floor where he belonged with the rest of the trash. He couldn't have possibly fucked this up more. Righted once again, he saw a very confused and even frightened Yuuri supporting him, an utterly gobsmacked Viktor behind. Otabek was crossing the room with surprising speed. Everyone else was just staring and he could feel every eye burning into his soul.

Desperate to escape, Yuri wrenched his arm free and bolted, rushing to be somewhere, anywhere else. Through tears he shoved his way out of the room, into the hall, through the door to the stairwell, making it two floors down he fell again and he stayed there, curled up into himself as much as possible, a tiny, shaking ball of tears and self-loathing.

Moments later he heard the door open again. Of course someone came for him. If it was Yuuri he was going to throw himself down the stairs just to avoid the conversation. Maybe he should anyway. He'd had the kiss he always wanted and knew he would never get another, much less a real one, one Yuuri actually wanted to share. Living with that knowledge was an entirely new hell.

"Yura?" It was Otabek, perhaps the only person he could face right now, even if his advice had been terrible. Yuri tried to answer him but only managed a choked sob. Rapid footfalls descended the steps until they stopped before him. He heard Otabek slide onto the floor next to him, felt a hand rest on his shoulder tentatively. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you to do that tonight."

"Not your fault," Yuri managed to say. "I fucked it up. I fucked everything up. He's never going to talk to me again. I'm gonna have to skate with him knowing he hates me. Everything is even worse now, and it's my - "He couldn't speak anymore and dissolved into sobs. Otabek's hand rubbed his shoulder as he heaved. "He wanted to follow you himself, Yura. It's funny, but he thought it was his own fault. Viktor and I both had to tell him I would handle it several times over before he agreed to wait. Even so, he's standing out in the hall now waiting for you. He's not mad, just concerned."

God damn him. Couldn't he just once act the way Yuri wanted him to? But of course, if he did, he wouldn't be as enthralling as he was - a never-ending chain of surprises, each better than the last. The pieces of Yuri's already shattered heart crumbled to dust. He leaned into Otabek, weeping pitifully, wanting to shove the man away and run but unable to leave the warm, comforting embrace he wished he didn't need. "I can't. I just can't."

"He'll be very sad to hear that, Yura," Otabek said, and Yuri knew it was true. His friend was painfully honest, which was why he insisted Yuri come clean in the first place probably. "I understand. He will too, I'm sure. Is there anything I can do?"

Yuri opened his mouth to speak and instead a wave of vaguely sweet and definitely alcoholic vomit emerged from him, covering his suit and dripping down the steps. Otabek mercifully avoided the worst of it, holding back Yuri's hair until the convulsions subsided. "Well, I was going to ask you to stay with me, but I think we probably should tell someone about that first."

Otabek laughed quietly, a first for him, as far as Yuri knew. "I'll let Katsuki know. I'll bring you back to your room, okay?"

"And then you'll stay with me?" Yuri asked, weakly, hopefully.

"If you want," Otabek said, looking stricken. "Let me talk to Katsuki. Then we can go."

Yuri nodded, dropping his head back to his now-filthy knees. This was very nearly the worst night of his life, and there was a lot of competition for that title for Yuri Plisetsky.

* * *

The bed wasn't much more comfortable than the bathroom floor, Yuri decided. At least there he had the toilet to hold onto, an anchor against the still-spinning ceiling. He grabbed Otabek's leg instead as the older boy sat next to him watching late-night spanish comedies with a completely unamused expression. "Are you feeling better?"

"Everything's still all spinny and I hate it," Yuri moaned. "Why do people do this to themselves?"

Otabek chuckled. Apparently his pain was more entertaining than spanish slapstick. "More often than not for the same reason you did."

"Oh," Yuri mumbled. "Okay. That makes sense. Does it work better for them?"

"Nope."

"Good because it didn't work for me so fuck them. I hope they puke twice as much as me."

"That would be impressive."

"Yeah...you know what no, fuck them again, I want to puke the most. I will be the best puker. The world champion of vomit. Yuri Plisetsky, master vomiteer."

Otabek laughed. Honest to god laughed, full throated and filled with mirth, and perhaps even relief. "You are definitely the most fun drunk I've met ince you get past the rough first stage, I have to say."

Yuri raised his arms in a victory pose for a moment before returning to his anchor, formerly known as Otabek's thigh. "I still feel shitt though. About what I did. About how I feel."

Otabek's hand found his shoulder once again. It did wonders for such a simple gesture, but drunk Yuri knew sober Yuri would be pissed anyway. "It happens, Yura. It will be better, I promise."

"...I don't want to stop loving him, Beka," Yuri said, and the realization hit him like a freight train. "I just...it feels so good. I love seeing him, talking to him, skating with him. When I thought he would retire, I...I honestly didn't know if it would be worth coming back for another year without him and skating is my whole life."

The hand at his shoulder tensed up suddenly. "Love like that can be dangerous, Yura."

"But how? It feels so good, it fills me with so much... the way I feel when I look at him, it's like I never want to do anything else. What I wouldn't give to have him feel the same...Imjust want him to feel as good as I do, what's wrong with that?"

There was a long silence, and Yuri imagined the crease in Otabek's forehead deepening. He turned off the tv before responding. "But he does feel that way, Yura. He feels that way about Viktor, and someone will feel that way about you."

"Fuck that," Yuri growled. He could feel tears thratenig to overtake his voice again. "I feel that way about him. No one else. No one else will ever make me feel that way. I don't want to."

"I admit, it's true that no one will ever make you feel exactly the same," Otabek answered, eyes locked onto some unseen distant point as he delved into his own feelings. "Each time you lve it's completely different from every other time. But each time feels just as good in its own way."

Yuri grimaced into the sheets. "How the fuck do you know so much anyway? You're not that much older than me."

Another chuckle, if perhaps a subdued one. "I may not be an expert but my first love was several years past, and I had to work through it just how you're working through this."

"Now you're going to tell me it wasn't easy and I'm gonna get there eventually and blah blah blah spare me..."

"Seems you've got me all figured out, then," Otabek said, and his smirk was audible. Several minutes of peaceful silence passed.

"Did you ever work things out with them. Your first love."

"Eventually. I didn't see them for a long time and they barely remembered me at first. But now that we've patched things up our friendship looks...promising. Fulfilling, even, regardlss of what form it takes."

"That's good. I hope it stays good," Yuri slurred, and he could feel sleep tugging at his eyelids.

"...me too, Yura."

"You're staying here tonight," Yuri said, barely managing to find his voice. "In case I get sick or whatever. Okay?"

"I didn't even consider leaving. Yuuri, Viktor, and Yakov would all hate me if I did."

"Maybe you should...then they could all hate both of us...together..."

"They don't hate you," Otabek said softly as he moved and pulled the covers over his sleeping friend. "No one does, no matter how hard you try."

It was another hour before Otabek managed to get to sleep sitting in the nearby chair, a watchful eye on Yuri all the while. He was glad Yuri had been half-asleep and still drunk through their conversation, as Yuri would have immediately realized what a hypocrite he was with a single look at his face.

No one, Otabek mused, is ever any good at dealing with the aftermath of their first love. He had been lucky, simply put, and he could only hope Yuri's would turn out half as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Title cribbed from Garbage (Temptation Waits) yet again, because it fits and also I have a theme going for this trilogy, apparently.
> 
> Update: I'd hit a block on part 3, which I had hoped to post on Yuri's birthday, and I finally realized it was because I left this unfinished. Progress is finally being made! Also, I promise the series will have a mostly happy ending.


End file.
